The Last Archangel: Not What He Seems
by inukagome15
Summary: Part 9 of "The Last Archangel" series. Five times someone realized Tony Stark was not what he seemed, and one time someone knew all along.


**So, this fic kind of jumps around in time, but the meetings are in chronological order. So it's from earliest to latest, and it should be relatively clear as to when each one takes place in the series at large. There are references to Four Aren't Better Than One, and of course, if you haven't read the two main stories, you will very likely be confused as to what's going on. x)**

 **But to the point, this is a relatively lighthearted entry in the series, with the exception of one Matt Murdock because his show is nothing but angst. His entry is also rather heavy-handed when it comes to religion, but then DD's opening theme has a church and angel going on there, so I don't know what you guys are expecting from a meeting between Matt and an archangel. Besides, if SPN can do it, I can, too.**

 **Hope you enjoy it! :D**

 **Summary:** Five times someone realized Tony Stark was not what he seemed, and one time someone knew all along.

* * *

 **The Last Archangel: Not What He Seems**

* * *

 **Reed Richards**

* * *

 _Maybe you'd have some input on this, Gabriel._

Reed didn't usually tend to think to himself (or other people), but ever since that close shave with those _Leviathan_ and Tony (or Gabriel?) rescuing them, he had been doing so. It was a bit like poking at a bruise or loose tooth. You couldn't help but do it just to see what would happen.

So far absolutely nothing had, and Reed was rather disappointed with the results.

Tony _had_ told them that if they wanted to contact him, all they needed to do was think about Gabriel. He hadn't exactly explained why this would do anything, but Reed suspected it was due to his "Wings." It was doubtlessly some kind of machine that linked into brainwaves, cataloguing them and making note of certain keywords – "Gabriel" being one of them.

Sue had just given him a look when he'd explained this to her and then proceeded to call him "an absolutely brilliant nitwit." Johnny had just wondered why everything had to be so _complicated_. Wasn't it just possible that Tony was a mutant?

This was a possibility (one that Reed had entertained), but it wasn't one that he deemed feasible. There would have been signs earlier of something not quite normal about Tony, and Reed had known the man for years. There was nothing unusual for Tony except for how he liked to talk to his machines.

 _Do your machines talk back to you, Gabriel?_

And if Tony had _amnesia_ , then that explained his complete lack of knowledge when it came to his Wings and anything associated with it the last time Reed had spoken to him. No wonder Reed hadn't been able to reach him.

But how had he gotten amnesia to begin with? It wasn't as if Tony had a particularly hazardous job, even with the Avengers living with him in that tower.

Maybe he'd hit his head. Weirder things had happened.

 _How severe does a head injury have to be for you to lose your memory like that, Gabriel?_

As a scientist, Reed was used to repeating experiments and changing variables until he obtained the desired result. And then he was used to replicating the experiment just to make sure it hadn't been chance that he'd gotten the result in the first place.

At first he had thought to Gabriel with urgent requests, such as not being able to find a truly vital document, but as time passed, his requests had turned milder, and now he was practically engaging Gabriel in a one-sided conversation.

If nothing else, it had given him several breakthroughs as he mentally conversed with the other to try and figure out what he was doing wrong.

So, even if Gabriel never showed up, Reed would continue thinking to him in hopes that maybe – _one day_ – he'd get a look at that Wings technology. He had tried to develop his own teleporting machine, but after the fifth time he'd accidentally opened a portal into another world and found himself looking at some truly murderous mermaids, he'd decided he needed a bit more information before he could try again.

He still wanted to ask Tony about it, but Sue's threat of depriving Reed of cuddles was enough of a deterrent for him to leave it be. In any case, Tony hadn't been around, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of Pepper's public excuse that Tony was sick again and receiving private medical care.

He'd been "sick" before with the Leviathan, and Steve was also missing.

Tony'd come back at some point. He always did.

Reed just needed to bide his time. In the meantime, he could continue trying to see if the Wings picked his thoughts up.

Engrossed as he was in the work he was doing, Reed didn't even notice the soft flutter of something that sounded like bird wings.

Then there was an obnoxiously loud pop like someone popping a bubble, and Reed jumped, banging his head on the underside of the machine he'd been fiddling with.

"Ooh, that sounded like it hurt."

"Tony!" Ignoring the throbbing pain in his skull, Reed pulled out of the machine, turning rapidly to see Tony standing there, chewing on something. A second later, he blew out a pink bubble and popped it.

"You don't look like you're in mortal danger," Tony said nonsensically. "Just about the only thing that does seem to be in danger of expiring is that cup of coffee. I think that's mold." Leaning his hip against the table next to him, Tony bent slightly to peer into said cup of coffee.

"It finally picked me up!" Reed couldn't help but grin excitedly, striding over to Tony to clasp his arms tightly. They seemed unusually hard under his fingers for a brief second before softening, and Reed's breath left him in a sudden whoosh as a pressure lifted from his shoulders. "Was it broken?"

Staring at him, Tony didn't move beyond blinking. "Was what broken?"

"Your Wings! I thought it was some kind of machine that picked up on brainwaves, taking in specific code words to let you know where you needed to go. But when I tried building the same, I only opened up portals into different worlds—"

"So that's why I keep seeing things in here," Tony said, eyes flickering to something over Reed's shoulder.

"—and I thought it'd be better to wait until I could ask you. Do you have any idea what we could _do_ with that kind of technology?"

Staring at him a moment longer, Tony finally moved to take Reed's hands off his arms, patting his shoulder once. "I – uh… I'm sorry." He sounded slightly strangled. "Just…excuse me."

Reed blinked and Tony was gone, nothing there to signify where he had been standing only a split-second before.

That was…amazing.

Reed had never known that teleportation could be so _smooth_. He had experience with mutants who could teleport, and they always left some sign of it. But there was absolutely nothing with these Wings.

This would be _fantastic_ if they could get it mass marketed!

Still buzzing with excitement and happiness, Reed moved to clean away the coffee that Tony had spotted mold in, dumping it in the nearest sink. He'd put bleach in it later to take care of the spores.

There was a soft flutter, and then Tony's voice sounded again, rather breathless. "Okay, I think I'm good."

Spinning, Reed saw that Tony looked rather flushed, a grin pulling at his lips and his eyes bright. His shoulders were also shaking slightly.

Reed admitted that he could be rather dense when it came to noticing what was wrong with other people, but this was obvious enough even to him. "Are you all right?"

A snigger escaped Tony, and he coughed, waving a hand to brush Reed's concern off. "I'm fine. Just…don't mind me if I start laughing." He snickered, shoulders shaking.

"Are you excited about this?" Reed asked, bursting with energy. "This is a terrific breakthrough!"

Taking a breath, Tony managed to sober up, some of the flush disappearing. "Reed, these 'Wings' you keep mentioning… You're thinking they're a machine?"

"I can't believe you managed to build it and not tell me."

Frowning slightly, Tony tilted his head. "I mentioned wings, didn't I? I think I did…" He seemed to shake himself, his face smoothing out. "It wasn't an euphemism for anything, Reed. I was really talking about wings."

"You don't _have_ any wings," Reed pointed out, rather irritated now. He wasn't _stupid_. "The only other explanation is technology."

Fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Tony said slowly, "And your next move was to continually shoot me prayers. You know, despite my reputation, I _don't_ actually like to listen in on sex."

Reed started to protest. "I didn't—"

"'Does heart rate affect the use of Wings, Gabriel?'" Tony recited as if from memory. "'Can it transport more than two people if they're in an intimate setting, Gabriel?' 'Can it—'" He waved a hand, making a face. "I give you a direct open line to me – which is _not_ something a lot of other people can say – and then you literally take that privilege and run with it. While doing the tango."

Reed didn't even remember saying those things, but now that Tony brought it up… He pushed away the embarrassment, reminding himself that it was impossible for Tony to have listened in. He wasn't a telepath.

"Not really in the actual sense of the word, no," Tony agreed, leaning back against the machine Reed had been busy with, his arms folded across his chest. "And it's not something I _like_ to do. Privacy issues, you know."

Reed blinked, staring at Tony in disbelief. "Did you just—"

"Only to prove a point," Tony reassured him. "Pinky promise." He held his pinky up, wiggling it briefly before returning to his previous stance.

"So you – you're a mutant?"

"Nooo." Tony drew the word out, crossing his ankles and leaning more heavily against the machine. "I told you before when I said it. Pray to Gabriel?"

"It's not like he _exists_ ," Reed protested, mind reeling. This didn't make any _sense_. Tony wasn't even religious. He and Reed had more than once debated religion and why it was so popular among regular people.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "I had no idea I was a figment of someone's imagination." He poked at his stomach. "I seem pretty solid?"

Reed stared at his possibly delusional friend. "Are you saying _you're_ Gabriel?"

A loud noise like a bell ringing filled the air, startling Reed briefly before he looked back at Tony, who was clapping, grinning broadly.

"Got it in one!" Tony chirped, shooting Reed finger guns. Then, bowing, Tony swept back upright, something like shadows flashing behind him, outstretched in a manner similar to—

" _Wings_ ," Reed breathed, eyes wide.

"Like I said," Tony said casually, pulling out a lollipop from thin air, "I have wings." He pinned Reed in place with a look. "And you should stop talking about these things in public where not-so-friendly ears might hear. I had to do some serious damage control because you thought it was a good idea to do it at a _party_."

"You didn't remember," Reed protested.

Shrugging, Tony sucked on the red lollipop. "I do now," he said around the candy. "So, please stop throwing my name around willy-nilly. I _don't_ want to know about your sex life, and whether or not I talk to machines is my own business. Deal?"

Floundering, Reed gaped at Tony, speechless. "So…we _can't_ mass market your wings?"

Visibly amused, Tony grinned, his eyes crinkling. "I wouldn't recommend it, no. And if you try making another teleporter, call me in first. We don't need things creeping in from other universes because you were too excited."

Remembering what had happened last time, Reed shivered, nodding in agreement. "It might take me some time," he said, "but I can stop – ah – praying. And I'll keep it quiet," he added.

Nodding, Tony pushed off the machine, walking past Reed and patting his shoulder. "Good talk, Reed. I'll see you around." Inclining his head, he winked. A blink later he was gone, Reed standing alone in his lab.

Staring numbly at the last spot Tony had been standing, Reed stretched out an arm for a chair, gratefully sinking into it once it was under him.

Of all the things he could _possibly_ have imagined…this was not one of them.

Maybe he should pick up a Bible.

* * *

 **Peter Parker**

* * *

Peter Parker's first meeting with the Avengers went something like this:

"Did that lizard guy just turn into an _actual_ guy?"

"Oh my God, you're a _baby_."

"I'd high five you if you didn't look like you were going to keel over any second."

"Hey, here's our card if you need to contact us for help or advice. Don't be shy."

Peter's contributions consisted mainly of incoherent spluttering and a single, eloquent "urk" before the Avengers took Dr. Connors in custody and dropped Peter off at his house to spare him having to limp home with a bullet wound in his leg. He hadn't really been sure about telling the Avengers where he lived, but they'd already seen his face, and they were the _good guys_.

He'd gotten a promise from Black Widow – _Black Widow_! – that they'd keep his identity quiet.

It hadn't been until later once the adrenaline had faded and Peter had taken care of his injuries that he'd fully realized what had happened.

And then he cursed himself out for behaving like a star-struck teenager around the _Avengers_. He hadn't even been able to say anything cool!

"You just saved New York City," the man with a metal arm had said, looking down at him with an impressed face. "Good job, kid."

Peter couldn't really remember what his response had been, but it was probably something like "Gleep."

Things weren't really better when he told Gwen about it after they started talking again. She'd just taken the card they'd given him and stared at it, eyes wide.

"You met them," she had said.

"Yep."

"The _Avengers_."

"Yep."

"Oh my _God_ , Peter!"

Gwen had made Peter swear that he would let her know if he ever did do a team-up with them at some point.

"Did you ask why they call themselves the Avengers?" Gwen had asked a few hours later.

"I was a bit too busy making an idiot of myself. 'Sides, Captain America wasn't there."

"It was still the _Avengers_! And they gave you their _card_!"

They had, although Peter wondered who'd designed the thing because it changed colors depending on his mood. It had taken him a while to figure out, and it was only until he'd been sick with food poisoning and the thing was a mocking greenish-yellow that he realized what it was.

It wasn't like mood rings were _accurate_ , but this thing was scarily so. It turned _pink_ when he was around Gwen, and there were even little hearts around the edges.

That said, it wasn't like he used it. He programmed their numbers into his phone and carried the card around just because. Most of his fights were low-key, nothing worth calling the _Avengers_ in for.

He couldn't really picture calling them in for help for dealing with a few uppity burglars that were too trigger happy.

It ended up being taken out of his hands one night when he ran into a green-skinned _goblin_ on a _hover-board_ that promptly threw an orange explosive ball his direction and set off his spider sense like _nuts_. Following some punches, some witty one-liners, and some really mad cackling from the goblin, Peter ended up getting Iron Man as an ally.

He hadn't even called him – hadn't even had the chance to; the suit had just shown up and promptly started beating the crap out of the goblin.

Within five minutes, the goblin had obviously decided he was outclassed and fled with a loud curse.

Clinging to the side of a glass building, Peter gawped at the gleaming red-and-gold suit that hovered before him. "Oh my _God_."

The guy in the suit actually sounded amused as he said, "Not quite, Spidey. Need a hand?"

"Oh my God," Peter repeated faintly, letting Iron Man take his hand to fly him wherever. It ended up being the nearest roof, and by that point Peter was just mentally flailing for words.

"I didn't even call!" were the first words Peter managed once they were stationary.

"I do get the news," Iron Man said, shrugging. "You looked like you could use a hand." He cocked his head. "I don't think I've ever seen that guy around before, though."

Peter got a hold of himself long enough to nod and say, "He's new. Definitely new. But he's got the whole 'evil villain' shtick down to a tee, even the cackle." Oh God, shut _up_ , Parker.

Iron Man didn't seem to mind. "He does have a nice cackle."

"I know, right!" Peter swallowed down the rest of his words. Then he ruined his efforts and blurted out, "Where's the rest of your team?"

"Date night," Iron Man said. Then, "You seem pretty sure they're _my_ team. The media's still up in the air about that."

"You've been fighting by Captain America!" Peter waved his hands around like a _dork_. He forced them down. "And you live in the tower. I've seen your suit leave." Stop sounding like a creep. "And by that I mean I've seen it on the news. I don't sit outside the tower or anything." Yeah, good going, Parker.

"I don't doubt that," Iron Man assured him, still sounding rather amused.

"Okay, good." Peter nodded, trying to sound smooth and aware that he was failing. "So—" he started, only to be cut off when Iron Man raised a hand.

Biting his lip, Peter kept quiet, mentally trying to figure out what he might've done to piss Iron Man off. Was he blabbering too much? Maybe.

He could try to—

"You can come to the tower," Iron Man offered, derailing Peter's train of thought. "Meet some of the others."

There went all of Peter's restraint. "Are you _serious_ right now? Can I? That'd be awesome!"

Iron Man thankfully didn't tell him to calm down. "Hop on, Spidey. I'll give you a ride."

Peter did hop on, and by the time they arrived at Stark Tower, he was so frazzled that the first thing he blurted out in an attempt at being totally casual was "Date night?"

"It's for the couples," Iron Man explained, hovering for a few seconds longer before cutting the power to his boots and landing with a soft clink of metal. "And any desperate singles who creep in on the dates."

"So you don't have one?" The words were out before Peter could rethink them, and then he was rapidly trying to backpedal. "I mean, I get that you and Mr. Stark are probably a thing—"

Iron Man did a strange choking sound that had Peter stop talking and mentally rewind what he just said.

"What?" Luckily the guy didn't sound angry.

"Nothing!" Peter waved his hands wildly. "Nothing at all."

"You just said—"

"It's a thing!" Peter said nervously, that emotionless mask throwing him off. "An Internet thing. I mean, everyone knows Mr. Stark's crazy about tech, and your suit's really something. It's just – shiny and really new and totally awesome and he'd go gaga over that and I should stop talking now."

Iron Man was laughing too hard to say anything, bent over practically double as he wheezed for breath.

A ginger-haired man stepped out onto the balcony/pedestal thingie they were standing on, looking concerned. "Sir?" He didn't seem surprised to see Peter standing there.

For once, Peter was thankful for his mask hiding the raging blush he was sure he had on his face.

"I-I'm good," Iron Man gasped out between peals of laughter. "I'm"—wheeze of laughter—" _so_ good."

The man didn't look entirely convinced. "If you say so, sir." Glancing at Peter, he said, "I assume this is Spider-Man?"

"Oh yeah," Peter said when Iron Man didn't immediately respond, still laughing too hard to get a good breath, "that's me."

"It's good to meet you," the man said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched to shake Peter's. "I am Jarvis."

Peter almost said his own name in response. "I'm – uh – nice to meet you."

Iron Man seemed to have recovered by now, though his shoulders still shook. "No need to be shy," he said cheerfully. "C'mon in."

Jarvis waited for Peter before following them inside, closing the glass door behind him.

The living room was amazing. It was sleek as all hell, with furniture that looked so comfortable Peter just wanted to lie down and sleep on it, and he could still smell what was probably lasagna.

There was a whirring sound behind him, a startled exclamation from Jarvis, and when Peter turned around, he was stunned to see Tony Stark stepping out from the Iron Man suit, grinning broadly at him.

"Wha—" Peter realized with horror that he had just suggested to _Tony Stark_ that he and Iron Man were in a relationship.

"Are you quite certain about this?" Jarvis asked, sounding utterly resigned.

Shrugging, Mr. Stark flashed a megawatt grin at Peter. "Thought I'd put us on even ground considering I know who you are."

"You…do?"

"Brightest of your class, Peter Parker." Mr. Stark stretched out a hand to take Peter's limp one at his side, shaking it once.

"I thought we agreed to not do any creeping," Hawkeye's voice came from above their heads. A second later a vent popped open and he jumped down, landing in a silent crouch next to them. "I distinctly remember something about that."

"I didn't creep," Mr. Stark said blandly, waving his hand. As if on cue, the Iron Man suit clicked back together and went off to loom creepily in a corner. "I just…poked around."

"You creeped," Hawkeye said blandly, completely unimpressed. Sidling over to Peter, he slung an arm over his shoulders companionably. "I apologize on behalf of Tony. Name's Clint."

"Urk," Peter said intelligently, not quite sure what to do.

"I thought you were on date night," Mr. Stark said, unwrapping a Hershey's bar. Wait – where did that come from?

"I don't _have_ a date," Hawkeye – Clint said.

"Isn't that what you do, though? Sneak in on Natasha's and James's?"

"As _if_ ," Clint said, affronted.

"What about Steve?" Mr. Stark passed off a Hershey's bar into Peter's hand, who numbly accepted it. "I thought we set him up on one."

"He ditched it," Clint said, shrugging, snitching Peter's bar after he unwrapped it. Taking a bite, he made an impressed face. "This doesn't taste as bad as I was expecting for something you just pulled out of nothing."

"I appreciate good candy," Mr. Stark said. Another appeared in his hand, and he waved it at Peter. "Want one since Clint snitched yours?"

Taking it, Peter asked, "You – you've always been Iron Man?"

Mr. Stark put a finger to his lips, smiling. "Yep."

"So that whole trial…"

Mr. Stark shrugged, crumpling his wrapper in a little ball and then shoving it into his jacket pocket. "I had things I needed to protect. You can do a lot of things in obscurity that you can't in public."

Gwen wasn't going to _believe_ him when he told her about this.

"I get it," Peter said truthfully. "My aunt would _freak_ if she knew."

"Teenage boy beating up bad guys and lizards," Clint said offhandedly. "Yeah, I can see why she'd be worried."

"That reminds me," Mr. Stark said, "why a lizard? I get snakes or birds, but a _lizard_?"

Peter looked down at his candy bar. "He wanted two arms."

"And he decided turning himself into a lizard was the route to go," Mr. Stark said, unimpressed.

"He didn't _mean_ to," Peter protested. "It was my fault."

"I wonder how a child is responsible for the actions of a grown man," Jarvis said noncommittally.

"I gave him the equation to finish it!"

"He decided to use it," Mr. Stark pointed out gently. "And not very responsibly either." His smile was kind. "It wasn't your fault."

"Besides," Clint said, patting Peter's shoulder, "you kicked his ass. It was a thing of beauty."

Peter's shoulders slumped, the dead body of Gwen's father flashing across his mind. "Yeah…"

Seeming to sense Peter's subdued mood, Mr. Stark clapped his hands together. "So! Who's up for a game of Monopoly?"

"I am!" an unfamiliar voice shouted.

Peter's head twisted around to see a dark head poking out from a doorway, the kid beaming brightly.

"You _suck_ at Monopoly," another voice said, the owner a dark-skinned girl with braided hair.

The boy pouted. "But it's fun!"

"Any other takers?" Mr. Stark asked, not at all bothered by the two small kids that Peter would _really_ like an explanation for.

Another boy came into view, already holding the game in his hands. He said something in a strange language Peter didn't understand.

"You in, Clint?" Mr. Stark looked at him, eyebrows raised and a small smirk playing at his lips.

"I just _know_ I'm going to regret this," Clint said, sighing, "but why not. It's not like I have any dignity left anyway."

"What's so bad about Monopoly?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"Nothing, really," Clint said, plopping down on the floor by the rectangular table several feet away from the largest couch. "Unless you're playing it with Tony Stark."

"I'll take it easy on you," Mr. Stark teased, ruffling the hair of the kid with the game in hand. "Mind setting it up, Hui?"

"You have kids?" Peter blurted out, unable to keep the question back now that the three kids were standing in the same room.

"Meet DJ, Bela, and Hui," Mr. Stark said, smoothly sitting down across from Clint. "We're waiting until they're a little older before we let the paps know."

Gwen was going to _freak_. "Yeah, no, I get it."

"The paps are insane," DJ said cheerfully, sitting to Mr. Stark's right. He took the dog figure.

"That's not a nice word to use," Bela said disapprovingly, taking the thimble.

"I call the hat," Clint said, stretching his hand out for Hui to drop it onto his palm.

"Here." Hui solemnly gave Mr. Stark the boot. "Which one would you like?" he asked Peter.

"Oh, uh…" Peter looked at the remaining pieces. "The car."

"I thought you were designing an Avengers-themed Monopoly board?" Clint asked Mr. Stark.

"It's still in production," Mr. Stark said idly, eyes on the sack that Jarvis took for himself.

"I bet." Clint's voice was dry.

"Hardcore mode or easy mode?" DJ tilted his head to the side.

"Let's see how Peter here does," Mr. Stark said, giving Peter a sly smile. "We wouldn't want to scare the kid."

"Er, thanks." Peter looked down at the board and the playing pieces on GO, wondering just how this had happened.

He still didn't have an answer thirty minutes later, but he did know that Mr. Stark was an absolute shark and that Jarvis wasn't far behind. A box of candy had materialized from somewhere fifteen minutes into the game, and Peter was honestly concerned about how much candy Mr. Stark was packing away.

But where had it _come_ from?

"You owe me rent," Mr. Stark told Clint, making wiggly fingers at him.

"I'm broke," Clint protested pitifully, looking at his miserable pile of ones. "Can I take a loan?" This question was directed to Hui.

"Your credit score is too low," Hui informed him seriously.

Clint actually accepted this answer with a miserable sigh. "Fine, then," he declared dramatically. "Kick me out."

"You'll be fine," Mr. Stark said dismissively. "You're a spry old man."

"I'm not _old_."

"Then you're a spry baby."

"Compared to _you_ , maybe." Clint snorted.

Clint and Mr. Stark looked to be around the same age, so Peter couldn't quite see what he meant by that.

"Your mental age is suspect," Bela said, not looking up from her cards.

Clint put a hand to his chest, affecting a hurt expression. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"You're welcome."

"You've been taking lessons from Natasha, haven't you?"

Bela shrugged, expression blank. "Maybe."

"That is no fair," Clint complained, turning to Jarvis. "Come _on_ , J."

"As you say, it is not my problem," Jarvis said, rolling the dice.

They continued playing for several more minutes, Peter desperately trying to hold his own against the more experienced players. He didn't want to ask what mode this was on, but thankfully DJ seemed to be having more trouble than anyone else save for Clint.

His phone had buzzed a few times, but he hadn't wanted to pull it out and distract himself from the cutthroat game.

Unfortunately, it was his turn when a distraction not of his own making appeared, flinging itself onto Mr. Stark with a loud, happy squeal.

Peter's spider sense going off was the only warning he had before the lights flickered ominously and something seemed to shake through his bones. As quickly as it had happened, the lights stabilized and his bones no longer felt like they were going to shake out of his skin.

But his spider sense was still going off like crazy, and the only new thing was the kid clamped onto Mr. Stark's back, who had gone as stiff as a board. Jarvis seemed similarly stiff, though his eyes were on the board.

"Sam." Mr. Stark's voice was strained. "Hey."

"Dada!" Sam said happily, not seeming to notice Mr. Stark's mood. Peter couldn't tell if Sam was a girl or a boy, and Sam was young enough that it was impossible to tell.

Taking a breath, Mr. Stark's eyes closed briefly before he seemed to relax, one hand going up to Sam's arms around his neck. "Come on." He tugged gently at Sam's arms, pulling until Sam came to sit happily in his lap, head resting against the middle of Mr. Stark's chest.

Peter's spider sense was still going off, but there was no way that was because of _Sam_. The kid looked utterly harmless and way too happy to be sitting in Mr. Stark's lap, beaming at the others.

Mr. Stark met Peter's eyes, seeming to look right through the mask, something wary and…not quite _human_ lurking in them. "This is Samael," he said slowly, the words measured. He patted Sam's – _Samael_ , really? – hair.

"Nice to meet you," Peter said, nodding at Sam.

"Yeah!" Sam chirped, flashing him a brilliant grin. Sam looked way younger than any of the others, still carrying that baby fat and looking at most two feet tall.

"You going to join us, squirt?" Mr. Stark rested his chin on Sam's head.

Studying the board for a few moments, Sam eventually said, "No."

Putting his head down, Peter forced himself to finish his move, paying Bela the requisite rent she was owed. He could almost hear the tension going out of the room as it was broken, though his spider sense still prickled.

But as Mr. Stark seemed to gradually genuinely relax over the next several moves, Peter's spider sense dwindled until it faded altogether.

It didn't make any sense. Mr. Stark wasn't going to hurt him – _couldn't,_ actually, since Peter was stronger than normal humans.

But the lights had flickered for no reason, and Peter had _felt_ something before. Then there was the candy.

And whatever that was that Peter had seen in his eyes.

His spider sense didn't go off unless there was actual danger in the area, and like it or not, it _had_ gone off around Mr. Stark.

Peter didn't know what that meant.

The rest of the game went quickly, Jarvis and Mr. Stark the last two standing with the victory eventually going to Mr. Stark.

Sam clapped happily at the end, planting a messy kiss on Mr. Stark's cheek in celebration.

"You'll join us, too, when you're older," Mr. Stark said, returning the gesture. Sam giggled in response, taking the boot that had been Mr. Stark's piece.

Discreetly taking his phone out to check the time, Peter grimaced when he saw that it was two in the morning. He had school in several hours, and sneaking back into the house was not going to be fun.

What was weird was that none of the kids seemed at all tired or hyperactive like overtired kids could be. And no one seemed concerned about them being up ridiculously late.

"They don't sleep much," Mr. Stark said, evidently picking up on Peter's confusion. "But I'm guessing you have to leave?"

"Yeah," Peter said reluctantly, turning the screen off. "But I've got your number!" he added brightly, only to want to smack himself in the face for sounding like an utter _creep_.

And he'd been doing so well.

Mr. Stark just grinned. "They gave you the card, didn't they?"

"That's what they're for, aren't they?" Clint yawned, stretching. "G'night, Spider-Man. I'll catch ya later. Nat's going to be so jealous when I tell her about this."

Peter stared after him as Clint left, unsure of what to say and mentally spazzing at the thought of the Black Widow being _jealous_ about Clint spending time with Spider-Man.

After giving Sam to Jarvis, Mr. Stark led him to the balcony. "If you'd like, I can give you a ride back."

Glancing at the deactivated suit in the corner of the room, Peter shook himself. "Nah, it's cool. I can swing my way back. Thanks, Mr. Stark," he added.

Mr. Stark grimaced. "Call me Tony. I'm not _that_ old." He smirked, eyes glinting strangely.

A frisson of something strange rippled through Peter, his spider sense tingling once before going quiet.

"Tony," he repeated, hoping his voice wasn't as high as it had sounded. "Thanks. I…guess I'll see you?"

"You have our number," Tony confirmed, patting Peter's shoulder. "Give us a call if you need us."

"Okay, yeah, definitely can do that for sure." Did that even make sense? Peter hoped it did.

Regardless of what was up with Tony, Gwen was going to _freak out_. And Peter had so much to tell her.

But first he had to sneak back into his house.

* * *

 **Specialist Cameron Klein**

* * *

New S.H.I.E.L.D. agents always received dossiers and paper files of any and all people S.H.I.E.L.D. associated with in any capacity. This included files on all agents within the organization, all villains S.H.I.E.L.D. had tabs on, and all superheroes as well. That didn't mean the files were _comprehensive_ – there were loads of files on agents that were nothing but blacked out lines because everything was classified – but it was the principle of the matter.

All agents – regardless of their eventual role in the agency – had to learn about who they might encounter on the job. It was important that agents be informed of everything, even if that meant lots of reading.

Thankfully there weren't any quizzes.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Specialist Cameron Klein was one person who would never see any of these people in person given that he was the type of guy whose talents lay in computers. But being the kind of guy he was, he dutifully read all the dossiers he was given, only briefly wondering why everything was on paper.

"We learned our lesson the time Stark messed with Fury's," Jasper Sitwell told Cameron when he asked.

"That can never be unseen," Blake said, wincing.

Further prying revealed absolutely nothing other than blank, hollow-eyed stares accompanied by lots of wincing, so Cameron wasn't too sure he really wanted to know.

But the paper made sense now.

That didn't mean that the profile they'd written on Tony Stark did.

Cameron had looked through all of the other Avengers' profiles before seeing Tony Stark's at the bottom of the pile. Of the team's profiles, Romanov's and Barton's were mostly blacked out, both being S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but the others' weren't. There wasn't much on Iron Man aside from speculation on his loyalties and a brief overview of when he'd first appeared, with a small side note on that he seemed to be working with the Avengers now.

All of the Avengers were classified as DANGEROUS BUT FRIENDLY, being Level 10 threats if something would go wrong.

But for some odd reason…Tony Stark's profile was in the same folder. Sure, the man was housing and funding the Avengers – why Cameron didn't know – but that didn't mean he should be in the same folder.

Cameron was familiar with all the basic information on Stark, but then he came to the threat assessment of Stark and he just _stared_.

DO NOT ENGAGE, the file warned. ABILITIES UNKNOWN; ALLEGIANCE UNKNOWN

And Stark's threat level was 10, same as the rest of the Avengers. But there wasn't even a plan to deal with him. All the Avengers had plans in case they went rogue – same for every superhero and villain – but there was absolutely nothing for Stark.

Thinking it had to be a mistake – maybe they'd meant to put a mutant on this instead – Cameron went to Sitwell, who had given him all the dossiers to begin with.

"What is it?" Sitwell asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

Be assertive, Cameron reminded himself. "There must be a mistake in this, sir," he said, holding out the file with Tony Stark's information.

Sitwell took the file, glanced at it, and then handed it back. "Nope. It's good."

Cameron flipped it open, looking down at the print that said that Stark sometimes went by the alias of Gabriel. "This doesn't make sense."

"In our line of work, not much does," Sitwell said.

"Is he a mutant, sir?" Cameron asked. But then why wouldn't that be written in the file?

"I wish," Sitwell sighed, looking pained. "We'd just hand him over to Xavier, then."

"If he's that dangerous, don't we have a contingency plan?"

Sighing again, Sitwell leaned back in his chair, putting his pen down. "Are you religious, Klein?"

Cameron couldn't repress the puzzled frown. "Um, not particularly."

"Neither was I," Sitwell said, "but then he showed up."

Wait… Cameron looked back at the file, at the classification under HUMAN? He wasn't sure why there was a question mark there, but that fell by the wayside for the ANGEL? written under it. He'd thought that was a typo.

"An angel, sir?" Cameron couldn't stop the skepticism.

"I tend not to argue with the being that singlehandedly blew a hole in the middle of a state," Sitwell said tiredly. "You weren't here at the time, but I'm sure you remember the disappearances."

"He was involved in that?"

"Hell, he got rid of the imposters," Sitwell said. "And then turned up on our flight deck, half-dead. Last I heard he was amnesiac but still dangerous."

"And we don't have a contingency plan to deal with him?" Cameron asked again. "Sir."

"Our contingency plans deal with exploiting weaknesses," Sitwell said. "As far as we can tell, he doesn't _have_ any. He has kids, but that's a surefire way of pissing him off from what I know. And believe me, Klein, you do _not_ want to be pissing him off."

That was about all Sitwell would be telling him, Cameron could tell. So with a nod, Cameron left the office.

Months later, Cameron found himself experiencing firsthand just what Sitwell had meant by not pissing Stark off.

That file hadn't even come _close_ to covering it.

* * *

 **Charles Xavier**

* * *

It had been a long time since Charles had attended a party with this many people. This was also the first time he was attending a party consisting entirely of superhumans and other mutants who had been invited.

Several of his X-Men were here, mingling with the others.

The party had been organized by the Avengers, intending on establishing firmer lines of communication between the different factions in New York City. After everything that had happened with the organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D., it wasn't a bad idea.

Charles was just a bit wary of associating with other people who didn't trust mutants, but no one seemed to mind. Even Logan's surly nature had barely been given a second glance, leaving the other to brood by the bar. About an hour later Logan had been joined by Johnny Storm, who seemed intent on cheering him up.

Scott had been far too amused for his own good at the sight, while Jean had just rolled her eyes fondly and continued chatting with Susan Richards.

"Hello, Professor," Captain America said, coming to a stop before him. He extended a hand. "I'm glad you could come."

Charles smiled back, clasping his hand firmly. "Thank you for having us, Captain."

"It's no problem," Steve Rogers said nervously, mind tinged with embarrassment.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?"

"And Miss Union Jack's," Steve said, glancing over his shoulder to where Miss Union Jack was talking to Ororo, the dark visor of her helmet obscuring her face from view. "Considering what happened, we thought it might be a good thing to have our cards on the table."

That wasn't the only reason, Charles suspected, but Steve didn't seem to know. Tony Stark was hosting the party, and the man doubtlessly had his own agenda.

"Captain," a mechanized voice interrupted them. "Professor." The armored avenger known as Iron Man inclined his head towards him.

Steve turned to Iron Man. "Iron Man."

"The Soldier wanted a word with you," Iron Man said.

"It better not be about the punch," Steve grumbled, though his thoughts were tinged with fondness.

"It isn't," Iron Man assured him, amused.

"Good." Nodding to Charles, Steve said, "I'll see you, Professor."

"Of course, Captain." Charles smiled at him, turning his attention to Iron Man as Steve began to wind his way through the party. "I wasn't sure if you would be here."

"I would have thought it apparent enough now whose side I am on," Iron Man said after a moment.

Charles didn't make it a habit to read people's minds. It was impossible for him to block everything off, but he could dial it down until he received nothing more than a surface impression of thoughts. Even with that, Iron Man's mind was _strange_.

It ran at something akin to light speed, so quickly that Charles found it impossible to keep up with the hundreds of trains of thoughts that the other had. It was also inexplicably alien, unlike anything else that Charles had ever run into.

Curious, he reached out to look more closely. But the moment he touched the other's mind, he found himself rebuffed, staring into a blank mask and no longer able to even sense the other's most peripheral thoughts.

"Professor Xavier!" a jovial voice said. The owner revealed himself to be Tony Stark as he slung an arm around Iron Man's shoulders, grinning broadly with just too much teeth. "How are you doing?"

Red colors danced across Charles's mind before he could pull himself out of it, and he had the distinct impression of hot _anger_. "Mr. Stark," he managed, putting on a genial smile. "I wasn't expecting you."

"That's me," Tony said, smile still too sharp to be entirely genuine. "It'd be rude for the host not to be present at his own party."

"Manners have never concerned you," Iron Man said.

"What – I can't start?" Tony affected an injured look, all wide eyes. His arm tightened briefly around Iron Man's shoulders before dropping. "Go off and socialize. I see Spidey's over there trying not to hyperventilate."

"Inviting him was your idea," Iron Man pointed out.

"He is a superhero, isn't he?" Tony pushed Iron Man away. "Go on, shoo."

Charles had the impression of _amusement_ and purple colors. Tony's eyes were on him, and for some reason he found himself flinching away.

 _Professor?_ Jean asked him, concerned.

Tony's eyes were too shrewd, and all Charles could see was green colored with _knowing_.

 _It's fine, Jean,_ Charles responded, not looking away from Tony.

Jean wasn't convinced, but she did mentally withdraw. _I'm keeping an eye on it,_ she warned.

 _Thank you._

"Too many people here?" Tony asked, his presence akin to a rock in the ocean. He seemed to be the only solid object in the room.

"It's fine," Charles said, pushing back the frightened instinct that told him to _move_. He had no idea where this was coming from.

There was purple again, colored again by that _amusement_. "I'm sure it is. Think you can temper your curiosity to not go poking into people's heads? That's just _rude_."

There was another flash of purple, but in a different shade this time, and Charles caught sight of an unfamiliar man in a jacket and jeans before he disappeared.

"My apologies," Charles said sincerely, although he didn't know how Tony had known. "I was too curious for my own good."

"As long as it doesn't happen again." Tony relaxed, something in his bearing changing. The colors Charles was seeing shifted as well, tinged with something just a bit…more human now.

This was simultaneously confusing and intriguing.

"How did you manage that?" Charles asked curiously, needing to _know_. He had never encountered a mutant or person with an ability like this.

"Well…" Tony's grin was predatory, and he leaned in close. "That's for me to know, isn't it? Enjoy the party, Professor. I've got my eye on you."

Tony walked off, going to where Spider-Man was nervously trying to hold a conversation with Black Widow. Charles couldn't help but watch as he joined the conversation, laughing at something Black Widow said.

He was still immovable, the most solid object in this room that Charles could focus on – like an anchor of sorts – but he had no delusions about finding out _why_.

But it was apparent that Anthony Edward Stark was more than what he seemed to be, and Charles hoped that whatever his agenda was, it favored them.

* * *

 **Matt Murdock**

* * *

This wasn't even the worst night Matt had. No, that honor went to the terrifying night he had almost been killed by a Japanese ninja, saved by the Avengers, and then been outed to his best friend.

That night _easily_ topped the list of his worst days, but this one was coming close to it.

Foggy hadn't been _happy_ to hear about his vigilante activities, and their relationship still wasn't where it had been before. They had managed to talk things out after the Avengers had been swept away by Gadreel, but it had been a close call. Foggy would never approve of Matt's activities, but at least he wasn't _gone_.

Not like Wilson Fisk and the other people that had turned up dead in the days following. Matt had gone to seek the "trickster" out, but he'd been too late. Fisk's body had been found quickly, the media picking up the story instantly to lament the death of one who had promised to help Hell's Kitchen.

Matt had thought that was the end of it, but not long after, a woman turned up dead, eyes gouged out and overdosed on cocaine. But what was even more bizarre was the warehouse filled with illegal immigrants who were all extremely confused and bewildered as to why they could see again.

Looking for Leland hadn't solved anything either, as the man was found dead only two days after Fisk had been.

The police had no leads, but Matt knew. The Avengers had clearly failed in their task to catch the trickster if he'd gone and murdered Hell's Kitchen's biggest criminals.

The worst part was that if Matt lacked the morals, he _also_ would have seen fit to kill them. And Fisk had died a respected man, his dealings as the horror behind countless crimes unknown. If Matt had his way, it all would have been exposed, Fisk's kingdom torn down from underneath him.

He would have done it legally, the way he had asked Foggy and Karen to do it. Now, while it was still an option to expose Fisk's crimes, it wouldn't carry the same satisfaction.

At any rate, there was a power vacuum in Hell's Kitchen now that Fisk's crime ring no longer had a leader or a sense of purpose. Things were quiet for weeks after, people cautious given the odd way that their most powerful criminals had died.

It gave Matt a chance to rest and hunt down the man who had built Fisk's body armor. The next time he went out to take down some vandals, he had a symbolic new outfit that would protect him from most of the usual kinds of damages. Sure, it had horns, but he didn't see how having horns was as silly as Foggy claimed. There was nothing silly about the devil – even one dubbed Daredevil by the media.

But for all of Matt's preparation, nothing could prepare him for the bomb that had gone off inside the building he was standing outside of and elsewhere in Hell's Kitchen.

It wasn't just that.

Hell's Kitchen had inadvertently become the battleground of several select members of the Avengers and two criminals known as Punisher and Crossbones, who had decided to flee to the neighborhood to try and evade the heroes.

Matt had gotten himself involved since he'd heard the two arguing about setting up bombs and who'd tipped off the fucking Avengers. He had been on patrol, and Hell's Kitchen was his responsibility.

But he hadn't been prepared, not for the multiple bombs that had gone off, so much louder than anything he'd heard before, drowning out anything else he might have heard and turning his world into nothing but fire and pain.

Matt was effectively blind, which would have been funny under any other circumstances than this, but he had absolutely _no idea what was going on_. He couldn't hear his heart, couldn't hear the screams that _should_ be around him, couldn't hear the debris falling through the ringing in his ears. He could feel nothing thanks to the heat of the explosion, but he needed to move away, get out.

He stumbled around, sightless in all the worst ways, and then abruptly found himself in the air, flailing wildly as something gripped him tightly by the waist. He got in a punch, only to regret it when he hit something hard that broke his hand.

It was a few seconds before he got a sense of dizzying displacement, found solid ground under his feet, and the ringing in his ears was gone. He couldn't hear anything beyond a mechanized and familiar voice talking calmly to someone Matt couldn't sense.

"I've got Daredevil here with me," Iron Man said. "Think you've got them handled?"

Matt didn't hear the response – and he _should_ have – but Iron Man gave an affirmative answer and placed a hand on his back, the metal warm even through the reinforced fabric of the suit.

"I like the new suit," Iron Man told him, still utterly calm. "Much better than the rags you were running around in before. The horns are a cute touch." There was a pause, and Matt's too-damped hearing heard whirring as Iron Man crouched next to him. "How you feeling?"

Matt shook his head, pressed his hands to his ears, felt warm, sticky wetness that didn't mean anything good. His broken hand wasn't broken anymore, he registered dimly. "I can't – I can't hear." He couldn't do anything. His nose wasn't working, he couldn't taste the air, and there was no change in temperature.

There was a short pause, then a hissed curse from Iron Man. "Oh, yeah. Give me a moment."

Matt had no idea what Iron Man was doing, but it seemed like someone was turning the dial on a radio. Slowly, sounds started filtering in. He heard his blood first, followed by his heartbeat. Then came Iron Man's, steady, slow, and even, and next was the sound of his rhythmic breathing, accompanied by the whirring of the gears of the suit.

Smell came after, and Matt greedily inhaled air that was free of smoke and debris, smelling the metal and paint of the Iron Man suit. A second later and he could taste it and feel how warm the air was around the suit.

But that was it. He couldn't hear or sense anything else outside of the two of them, as if they were in a bubble.

And Iron Man's heartbeat was so _familiar_.

Matt jerked away from his hand. " _Gadreel_?"

There was a surprised pause from Iron Man – Gadreel, Matt knew by his heartbeat, as there was no other with such an even tempo – and then what was undeniably a muffled snort. "Gadreel's going to be touched you remembered him, but no."

"It's a bit difficult to forget someone who fished you out of a river," Matt said, not detecting a lie. But then, Gadreel's heart had never fluctuated once during the time Matt had been with him. So how could he know if Iron Man was telling the truth? "Who are you, then? You sound just like him."

There was more whirring, and then a very human voice that was not Gadreel said, "How about now?"

There was no chance of hiding his surprise. " _Tony Stark_?"

"Yeeep," Tony Stark's voice said cheerfully, not at all fazed about having revealed his identity to Matt. "I suppose you're feeling better now?"

Matt had absolutely no idea how to respond to this revelation, other than possibly how he was going to tell this to Foggy later, as they'd had plenty of arguments about Iron Man and who could be behind the mask. They had considered Tony Stark on a lark, but hadn't ever _really_ thought it true. "I still can't hear," he said finally, plaintively.

"It's still a bit loud around us," Stark informed him. "I can expand it a little more, but there's a ringing that wouldn't be too good for your ears. They rigged those bombs with something nasty."

Stark's heart was still beating evenly – that same tempo as Gadreel's that Matt remembered – and now that Matt was concentrating on it, Stark had that same smell as well. It was like lightning and thunder rolled in one, the scent of the _air_ actually burning, and something else that Matt didn't know how to identify aside from _other_.

"You're not human," Matt said, fingers curling into his palms. Maybe that wasn't the smartest decision, but Stark had made no secret of what he was doing to Matt's senses.

Humming thoughtfully, Stark shifted slightly, not moving other than that. "Not all, no," he agreed. "Something give it away?" He sounded like he already knew the answer but just wanted it confirmed.

"Your heart," Matt answered, head falling forward as he listened. "Breathing. Smell. It's the same as Gadreel's. No human's like that."

"Gadreel's my brother," Stark said, the statement making no sense at all as everyone knew Tony Stark was an only child.

Matt inhaled again, deeper this time, trying to determine the intricacies of Stark's scent. Past that initial smell that was like Gadreel's, Matt smelled something akin to the natural scent of humans. And…candy.

That same smell had been on the trickster. Sure, maybe Stark just really liked candy, but Matt hadn't gotten this far by writing things off as coincidences. There had been a reason that the Avengers hadn't been willing to give him any information on the trickster, and he was willing to bet that it was because Tony Stark – _Iron Man_ – was him.

How, he didn't know, but Stark wasn't _human_. And he had no idea what Gadreel was capable of; if they were really brothers as Stark claimed, chances were they could do the exact same things.

Stark's terribly calm voice interrupted Matt's thoughts. "If you've got questions, ask."

"You're the trickster."

Matt sensed Stark's head shifting to the side. "That wasn't a question." He sounded amused now.

He was utterly outclassed, but Matt was never one to back down, especially not when he was angry."I wasn't asking."

"And what are you going to do if it's true?" Stark asked curiously.

Given that the trickster had effortlessly taken down the worst criminals in Hell's Kitchen without batting an eye, any of Matt's threats were just going to be laughed off. But it was strange… Stark wasn't acting like the trickster had.

When missing vital information, always go looking for more. "Why did you do it?"

"Well, when a man and woman – or two people of indeterminate gender really, but let's go with reproductive capabilities here – love each other very much—"

"That's not what I was asking," Matt interrupted, annoyed.

"Oh." Stark still sounded bright and perky. "You should've specified, then. What exactly _are_ you asking? Why did I do what?"

"You're supposed to be a genius," Matt said sharply. "Being stupid doesn't suit you. Why did you kill them?"

"I've killed a _lot_ of people," Stark said casually, still not answering Matt's question. "Who are you referring to?"

"Fisk," Matt ground out, unwilling to do this dance any longer. "Leland. That woman."

Stark let out a small "ahh" of acknowledgement that had Matt gritting his teeth. "They were assholes. Had it coming, really."

"I had it handled," Matt said, jaw tightening.

"Maybe you did," Stark said. "Not that it really matters anymore, hm? Would've thought you'd be glad about it. Saves you a lot of trouble in the long run."

"We would've handled it _legally_ ," Matt snapped. "The way he should have been handled."

"Ah, an optimist," Stark said sardonically. "How nice for you. Did you really think our esteemed justice system would have held a man of Fisk's caliber for long? He would've been out in no time, and then where would you be? Facing each other down as mortal archenemies, and archenemies aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"So you took justice into your own hands." Given how well the Avengers' conversation had gone with the trickster, Matt didn't even know why he was trying. It was just going over the same tracks.

"Well, duh." Stark sounded like this was a given. "Didn't you hear all this before?"

"Before I didn't know who you were," Matt said. "Now I do."

"If you're thinking of blackmail, I'm afraid nothing's going to stick. But you're welcome to try." There was no anger in Stark's tone, though anyone else Matt knew would be at the very least peeved at the insinuation. The sheer audacity at Stark thinking that he was above the laws meant to keep people safe had Matt shaking with rage.

"Do you think you're above that?" Matt demanded.

"Look, as threats go, you're like a kitten," Stark said, not unkindly. "Or maybe a Chihuahua. You seem like a dog person… No?"

Matt preferred cats, but that wasn't the point. "Maybe you're not human, but your teammates are," he said, a little voice in the back of his head shouting at him to just fucking _stop_.

"Ooh, striking low, are we?" Stark didn't sound like he was joking anymore, which was good. But his tone sent frissons of fear skittering up Matt's spine. "Hm…" He hummed thoughtfully, eventually starting with, "Let's try this again, shall we? Yes, I'm the Trickster, I was responsible for killing the people you were trying to take down, and I was having some unfortunate identity issues at the time."

That was not what he had expected. "What?"

"There was Doom," Stark said, "and then there was a machine, and then there were four. Of me. You had the unfortunate mishap of running into Trickster-me, and I'll happily concede I was a dick at that point. Not that I'm not a dick usually, but he was more of one. As you surmised from the conversation you were privy to, I mete out judgment to those who deserve it. It's my job."

"Given to you by whom?" Matt was unable to resist asking.

"God-given," Stark answered without a hint of humor. "You're Catholic, aren't you?"

"That has nothing to do with this."

"What does your faith say about Gadreel?" Stark persisted.

Sensing that Stark was really serious about this train of thought and not knowing _why_ , Matt thought it best to indulge the guy who could easily kill him with a well-placed missile from that suit. "A follower of Lucifer. Some think Gadreel was the one to assume the snake's form to persuade Eve to eat the apple. It's also said he taught us the art of war."

Stark snorted, then coughed. "Well…I suppose that's not as bad as it could have been. I'm pretty sure that Trickster-me outed him the first time round."

Matt remembered the trickster talking about angelic powers of a sort, but he had put that off to a figure of speech. "You're not seriously suggesting what I think you are."

"Well, that depends. Are you thinking I'm suggesting Gadreel's an angel? Then, yes, I was suggesting that. But if you were thinking anything else, then no. I don't make a habit of reading people's minds."

"And you're claiming Gadreel told you it's your job to judge people?" Matt asked skeptically.

"What? _No_." Stark sounded offended. "Where'd you get that idea from? I said 'God-given,' not 'Gadreel-given.'"

Matt hated feeling confused. "You're not making sense."

"I thought I was being pretty clear," Stark mused, a hand going up to his head, followed shortly after by a rustling sound that was probably fingers going through hair. "Let's try this one more time. Hi, Matthew Murdock, I'm Gabriel, archangel of the Lord."

Matt's thoughts skittered to a screeching halt, followed briefly by a flat _what_. He stared blankly at the spot Stark – _Gabriel_ , what the fuck? – was standing, hoping his incredulity was clearly visible. "You just said you're the trickster," he finally settled on saying flatly.

"And Gabriel," Stark agreed. "Both. It's like you – nice lawyer by day, vigilant by night! I don't do it much anymore, but that's still my job."

"Gabriel's the messenger," Matt pointed out. "And the angel of mercy."

"In one branch of religion," Stark said. "The Jewish faith has me as the angel of judgment, and that's also true."

If this was true…Matt could just about see every tenet of religion topple over.

"Did you think there was only one true religion?" Stark's voice was soft. "It's all about faith, Matt. Faith and the willingness to choose."

"I can't tell if you're telling the truth," Matt said after a moment, mouth dry. How _was_ it true?

There was a considering silence from Stark. "Given we live in a world of gods and mutants, I can't prove it beyond a reasonable doubt for you. Which is what you go for as a lawyer, isn't it?" The words were wry. "But that's what faith's for. And…" He exhaled slowly. "You can't see, but that should make this easier."

Matt didn't have time to ask what Stark meant by that, as the perpetual darkness that had been his sight since he was nine gave way to light – _beautiful_ , bright, _scorching_ light. The light faded out slightly, condensing to a figure, and behind his back…Matt saw enormous wings.

As quickly as the light had appeared, it darkened, leaving Matt in the black with nothing but his other senses. He found himself blinking behind the mask, crying for some inexplicable reason.

Stark actually sounded tentative for the first time since they'd started talking. "I didn't burn your eyes out, did I?"

"They're fine," Matt rasped, ducking his head to wipe away the wet trails before they could further incriminate him. "Normal."

"Oh good." The heat signature that was Stark – Gabriel – waved a hand. "That enough for you?"

"If – if you're really him – Gabriel…" Matt wet his lips, anxiety and a burning desire to _know_ making the words difficult to get out. "Maybe you could answer a question for me."

"Depends on the question, but shoot."

"Wh-why did God put the devil in me?"

Gabriel didn't answer immediately, and Matt didn't know if that was because he was carefully phrasing his answer or didn't have one.

"So…" Gabriel drew the word out slowly, suit whirring as he rubbed his face. "I'm just a bit out of shape when it comes to reassuring humans on important matters, but I've still got it. But let me know if this freaks you out, and I'll work on it next time someone decides to ask me something intensely philosophical."

"You don't have an answer." Matt couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"No, I do." Gabriel sounded rueful. "I just don't know if it's one you'll like."

"I can take it."

"I don't doubt it." Gabriel's tone was matter-of-fact as he continued speaking, the words blunt. "To see what you do with it. You had a choice, Matt, and it was up to you to decide what you wanted."

Was it that simple? " _That's_ why?"

"You've no idea…the paths you could have taken." Matt couldn't tell, but Gabriel sounded a bit like he was talking to something not visible. "Other people have had the 'devil' in them as well, and not done half as well."

"Half as well"? Matt struggled every day with the violence he wanted to inflict on people, with the _anger_ he had against the injustice he continued to see in the world. And yet he still couldn't hold it back.

"Anger is a sin," Matt said instead, stilted.

"It depends on what you do with it," Gabriel said. "If you've taken that anger and used it to hurt others without cause, then it is. But if you've taken it and used it as motivation…"

"I've hurt people."

"So have I." Gabriel's admission was blunt, without regret. "You think angels are without blood on their hands, Matthew? We're warriors, and we do what we need to. And you do it to help people." His voice softened. "It's not just your actions that are weighed, Matt; it's everything."

Matt pulled in a slow breath, the sound echoing in his ears. He still wasn't entirely sure that Gabriel was telling the truth, that it wasn't just a very sick man with delusions of grandeur. But there was no hiding the way that Tony Stark was _not_ human, that he had manipulated Matt's senses, that he had taken them out of a dangerous zone to someplace safer with no noticeable method of transportation.

There was one more thing Matt wanted to know. "When Gadreel healed me, he said he healed _almost_ everything."

"Gadreel had a little thing about healing every ill he came across," Gabriel said fondly. "Often without someone's consent. He's gotten better about it now, which is why he didn't do anything about your eyesight. He had no idea if you wanted it healed, so he left it."

"You can _do_ that?" Matt demanded.

Gabriel didn't answer the question, asking one of his own. "Do you _want_ it healed?"

Matt opened his mouth, a kneejerk " _yes_ " on the tip of his tongue, only to shut it a second later when doubt filled him. He wanted – he _wanted_ to see the sky again. Wanted to see colors, the way people smiled or laughed. He wanted to see the trees and grass, not just feel or hear them. He hadn't been born this way, and he lived with the knowledge of what he'd lost every day, even with the gift of his enhanced senses.

But it was _because_ of his missing eyesight that he could do what he did. If he asked for it back…

"Look…" Gabriel sighed, coming closer. "It's not something you have to answer. But it's something you have to be sure about. It's not just about healing damaged connections; it's about relearning a way of seeing that you haven't had for years. We can help a little, but most of that's going to be on you." He held out something that Matt smelled as paper and ink. "Give it some thought. You've got my number now."

Taking the card, Matt ran his fingers over the distinctive bumps of Braille that spelled out the Avengers' contact information. "You just happen to have a card written in Braille on you?" he couldn't resist asking.

"I just happen to be able to translate a regular one, yes," Gabriel retorted, sounding like he was grinning.

"I…" Matt thumbed the edge of the card. "What if I can't fight anymore?"

"I won't lie – it's going to be a readjustment. But again, this isn't something you have to decide now or even within the next week. There's no time limit on the offer, Matt."

There was that saying that one shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but Matt had never been one to follow advice. "Why are you willing to help me?" _Why not anyone else?_

"Well, why _not_?" Gabriel seemed to realize that Matt didn't think that an acceptable answer. "You think everyone knows who I am? I said before, this needs to be done with consent. If you're consenting and willing…" He shrugged. "I don't go around performing minor miracles for everyone; things happen for a reason, even if you can't see it. …Metaphorically speaking."

"I can take a metaphor," Matt said dryly, smiling despite himself.

"Good to know!" Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. "So, call if you need us. Or if you want to hang out. We don't bite. I'm winking here."

Matt inclined his head. "Thanks. You think you can…" He gestured, flicking his thumb up.

"One moment."

It took a few seconds, but then Matt's senses were back to their normal range. His shoulders slumped in relief; there was no more sign of fighting, though Matt could still smell the fire and smoke from the bombs.

"Back to normal?" Gabriel waited for Matt to nod before letting his hand drop. "I'll leave you to it. Hell's Kitchen should be back to normal in no time; I'll make sure relief efforts get here once it's safe."

Gabriel didn't wait for Matt to reply, his presence gone practically immediately in what Matt's hearing recognized as a flutter of wings.

Staying still, Matt let himself breathe, assimilating everything he had missed during the conversation with Gabriel. He could hear the Avengers several blocks away, welcoming Iron Man back and reporting on Punisher's and Crossbones' arrest. There were also damage reports from police officers and other officials on the scene.

Returning his attention to the card, Matt ran his fingers one more time over the numbers.

He had time to think, but he already knew what his answer would be.

* * *

 **Deadpool**

* * *

Tony didn't usually go out with Gadreel, but he'd wanted to bring his brother out into the city, show him some more of what had become his home. Gadreel had already run the gamut of tourist attractions with his friends, but there was a difference between seeing a city with people you were just getting to know and someone who understood where you were coming from.

Hence why Tony was out and about with Gadreel, encouraging him to try some of the street vendor food.

"I've already tried this before," Gadreel said, nonplussed. "It wasn't anything special."

"You haven't tried this," Tony assured him, pushing a very greasy hot dog slathered with the works into his hands. This was followed by several napkins. "It's not just about molecules; taste with your buds."

The vendor gave the two of them a strange look at the comment but didn't say anything, too busy with his next customer.

Giving Tony a skeptical look, Gadreel took a bite, ending up with most of the ketchup and mustard smeared all over his face. Tony pushed back the urge to wipe it off, smothering his grin with a bite of his own hot dog.

"Interesting," Gadreel managed after swallowing it, heedless of the mess around his mouth. He didn't say anything else, concentrating on finishing the hot dog before it fell to pieces.

"Let's try ice cream next," Tony said, tossing his empty wrapper into the nearest trash can. He gestured to Gadreel's face. "But first you might wanna do something about that…"

Several seconds later and Gadreel's napkins bore the remnants of the mess that had been on his face; they followed the empty hot dog wrapper into the trash can. "I've had ice cream before."

"Store-bought ice cream isn't the same thing as getting an amazing sundae," Tony said, stepping just slightly ahead of him to head to the ice cream parlor he had in mind. Steve had introduced him to it, actually, and it was one that Tony had fallen in love with since their ice creams were out of this world. "Besides," he added, "these are _really_ good."

"If you say so," Gadreel demurred, evidently not thinking it worth his time to further press the point.

Huffing, Tony quickened his pace, fully intent on converting Gadreel to the wonders of _ice cream_. His brother still had a tendency to get too lost in his own head, and that was the last thing Tony wanted. Those were the times his Grace just ached with loneliness, and Tony hated that.

Unfortunately, they ran into a bank robbery on the way. Tony blinked at the sight, checked his phone, saw the texts from JARVIS informing him as to the situation, and then briefly considered what they should do.

Further plans were shot out the window when the bank robbers were tossed out of the windows in a hail of broken glass. They were followed by a masked man clothed in a skintight red and black uniform who was wielding a sword and a gun, several other weapons in plain view on his person.

"That wasn't cool at _all_ ," the man was complaining to the would-be robbers. "I just wanted to get some cash out of my account. Why did you have to do that?"

"Should we?" Gadreel murmured, shifting slightly next to Tony.

Tony shook his head, putting a hand to Gadreel's chest. He wanted to see what this guy did; he wasn't familiar with him, though there were two other masked vigilantes clothed in red running around New York City these days.

"Arrest them, officers!" the man told the police officers that were standing there silently, unsure of what to do.

Given a distinct lack of anyone else to arrest and apparently unwilling to go up against the armed vigilant who had just handily taken down the bank robbers for them, the officers did so, handcuffing the criminals and putting them into the back of their cars.

Sharing a glance with Gadreel, Tony shrugged. There was no need to interfere, and Tony still had his eye set on that ice cream parlor.

Besides, despite complaints from his friends, he didn't feel a need to out himself to every superhero that fell into their laps. He'd revealed his identity to Matt for a reason, since he'd owed the poor guy something after everything that had happened, and Peter was a trustworthy kid. There was little use hiding something from a mutant like Charles, and Reed was an old friend.

This guy…was none of the above, and Tony owed him nothing.

Which was why it was perplexing when he plopped himself down in the third seat at their table in the ice cream parlor.

"Ooh, ice cream!" The guy inhaled audibly, settling back into the chair. "That hits the spot."

Gadreel frowned, shooting Tony a perplexed glance that clearly screamed "what the fuck."

Tony just raised his eyebrows, spoon in his mouth.

"What do you recommend?" the guy asked Tony, head craning back to the menu. The employees were eyeing him warily along with giving Tony panicked looks.

"It's all good," Tony said, having taken a mishmash of flavors for his sundae bowl.

"Maybe later," the guy decided, turning back to Tony. "So…angel buddy of mine"—the spoon bent slightly in Tony's grip—"how's it going?"

Discreetly straightening the spoon, Tony managed to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Who are you?"

"Deadpool!" the guy answered cheerfully, accompanying the name with finger guns. "You've probably seen me around, yeah?"

Tony and Gadreel shared looks, then turned to Deadpool as one to say blandly, "No."

Deadpool seemed to physically wilt. "I thought I was being pretty obvious."

Tony carefully made it so that their presence was hidden from the others in the store, not wanting this to get any crazier than it already was. "Nope. Can I help you?"

Deadpool seemed to consider the question for a moment before shaking his head. "Just wanted to say hi to our friendly neighborhood angels! You're both doing a really great job."

This man… He was terminally ill, but his healing factor kept the illness at bay. But that didn't explain this. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You're really popular," Deadpool informed him inanely.

"I'm…what?"

"He is famous," Gadreel added, taking pity on Tony.

"I mean popular," Deadpool insisted, clearly meaning something other than what Gadreel had, though Tony still didn't understand what. "Just wanted to say hi, Gabe – I can call you Gabe, right? – and I'm your man if you ever need a merc!" With a cheery wave, Deadpool flounced out of the parlor.

Gabriel and Gadreel stared after him, both unsure as to what had just happened. A few seconds later, Gabriel swore he heard him scream, "YES I'VE MET ANGELS!"

"I don't understand," Gadreel said finally, lost.

"I don't either," Gabriel admitted, sticking his abused spoon into his melting ice cream. He chilled it with a finger. "But, uh…that was not my fault."

"Should we tell the team?"

Tracking Deadpool's soul through the city, Gabriel considered the question. The other man was slightly insane and definitely dangerous, but he was easily enough handled. "Write a file; there's nothing else we can do."

Putting the matter at rest, they returned to their ice cream, although perturbed and just a bit wary.

Well…if nothing else, seeing Deadpool interact with the rest of the team would be amusing. Gabriel had the feeling that he would get along very well with Peter.

* * *

 **I know next to nothing about Deadpool's character other than he breaks the fourth wall on a regular basis, is pansexual, and has a crush on Spider-Man. Thank goodness he has a canonical movie next year, but for the meantime, I hope he's sort of in character? It would've been longer otherwise, but I didn't want to ruin it.**

 **I think my favorite bits to write were Reed and Peter, just for the lols. And poor Cameron Klein's, because that is one agent who's in over his head. What was yours to read?**

 **Let me know what you thought! :D**


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